


Cover Up Love’s Alibi

by space_dust



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Pining, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Silly 3 AM Ramblings, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_dust/pseuds/space_dust
Summary: Maybe volunteering to go play bait wasn't such a good idea. But it's nice to spend a moment with Agent Ford before the inevitable disaster you can only hope this whole thing won't be.





	Cover Up Love’s Alibi

“Mind putting this on me, Agent Ford?”

You ask from your dresser, eyes finding his through the mirrors reflection. The man had stood there awkwardly for nearly half an stiff and tight lipped, eyes looking at everything but yours.

He must've sensed your pensive mood. Holden wasn’t so thick when someone didn’t seem to want to talk. It’s his job after all. Was his job, you correct yourself idly as you take the a silver chain from its box. Though you could argue that sympathizing with psychopaths is an extension of his old one.

He hovers, face pinched as you stand in front of him. He looks older here somehow, harsh lights of your dresser pronouncing the lines in his face while you hand him the necklace. His eyes are searching yours for what, you don’t know, but the moment is gone as you pull away your lingering fingers, turning your back to him.

“You don’t have to do this.” He says after a moment. You know he doesn't mean it and so does he. You tilt your head to him, a small smile in your face, but you don't look him in the eye. 

“You know, this is my first date.”

His shaky exhale brushes your ear. “I’m... sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You say. “Its my fault mostly. I never really tried to get myself out there, and then when I got the job at the Bureau, I was always so afraid they’d find any excuse to off me. So, I kept myself busy.”

“They won’t. Your a brilliant agent.“ He says so earnestly that you almost believe him. “And we can always find others ways of luring him out.”

“We need results, Agent Ford.” You remind him, frank. “If this is what it takes to prove what we can do and keep the Unit running, we take it.”

“We can review the evidence, follow more leads, find more suspects” He lists. “I can’t put you through this. What if my hunch is wrong? What if we don’t get to you on time? What if he hurts you?”

“He has to hurt me, Holden.” You say, not unkindly. 

His mouth snaps shut.

You pull your hair up to show him your neck. You stare ahead, while cold, trembling fingers brush close. You can feel his hands shake and you fight off the urge to laugh. It's flattering to think you’re making him nervous. Still, he might be like this around any other woman, but this once, you’d let yourself have this much. 

Something in you turns in guilt, but its a small thing you can be selfish about. If what youve heard was true, then Debbie Mitford o nothing to worry about— shes brilliant, amazing, and probably sharp enough to see your longing eyes as your voice go breathless while you stand just a little too close to her boyfriend. Thats why you never really got around to Holdens dinner invites, much to his insistence.

Agent Tench doesn't notice or at least, might pretend not to. You’re still not sure whether you should feel grateful or horrified at the idea, so you've settled at feeling both. Doctor Carr certainly does, and made sure you you know that she knows.You don't expect anything less of course. Her dubious brow always makes you flush in shame, but theres a strange freedom to it, no matter how much she makes you feel like you're desperate or you have bad taste. You can only hope it fades away in time, but right now it doesn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon.

You wonder if hes close enough to hear the thunder in your ears, to feel the vein underneath your jaw thrumming in time with your heartbeat thats going a million miles per hour. As the clasp clicks, your smile falls away to something more somber. 

You let your hair fall and you turn to look at him. “Thank you, Agent Ford.” You say, breath hitching, surprised by his sudden closeness. Hes so near that you feel the warmth that he radiates, and he looks at you, mouth parted and brows drawn, looking so helpless. He breath smells like mint, and catch a whiff of something earthy, maybe cedar or pine, or the tea he always drinks. It tethers you here, as you stare back at his eyes so blue, and christ, no one has ever made you wax this poetic since high school.

You wish you can smooth away the creases of worry in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. But that isn’t who you are to him and you have never felt so jealous of someone you've never met. You step back. “We should get going.”

He doesn't reply as you move to take the coat on your chair and drape it around your shoulders. You feel cold still. Must be the nerves. You’ve been doing undercover ops like these for years but it never gets easier. You suppose it's better that way. Keeps you from letting your guard down, and reminds you of whats at stake. But theres a fear in you that you can’t shake, the tinny voices on the many recordings somehow speaking all together in your mind all at once as you pause.

Killers were just killers in your mind. People who couldn’t handle themselves, who took things too far because they’re hurt or frustrated or angry. But god, those interviews made your skin itch something raw. There were a few sleepless nights after those, but sure enough you got used to it, and left it everything the moment you got out of Quantico headquarters. It was good most days, but there are days that everything tilts a little too much to the left as you look over your shoulder more times than you count.

But to face them? Thats a whole other monster entirely. 

It was then you feel your hand engulfed with someone else's, and it's warm and callused and dwarfs yours in comparison. Your eyes dart to his worried ones, filled with guilt— knowing what hes done. He squeezes it and your lips pull up in a pale imitation of a smile, but its brittle, and breaks as quick as it came. His frown etches deeper.

This feels bittersweet, you think, wishing you two were holding hands for different reasons. But you welcome it all the same, as you try not to breathe too hard, or too fast because theres something stuck in your lungs and it refuses to cooperate and do its damn job.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you wheeze.

Holden doesn't hold it against you and presses closer, unsure, looking around in slight panic. It's cute. Everything he does is cute. You think, light headed as he helps you down your porch steps as you sway, his hand on your waist the only thing keeping your from falling.

If someone were to see you two, it's a nice thought to think that you two must look like a couple off to some date. Dressed to the nines, you looked good, at least for tonight. Sure, you're a little chillier than usual, but it was fun to play dress up. Who you’re dressing up for though makes your hackles rise so you don’t think about it too hard.

Oh, Holden even holds out the car door for you. How nice of him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> 10.5.19 updated things! but still the same


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